And now I move on
by aloneinthetardiss
Summary: Basically inspired by my tags on a post on Tumblr. John's sad, and this delves into that. Slight Johnlock, won't be obvious until I reunite the two. Title might get changed because IDEK MAN. T for now, might change later on.
1. Chapter 1

John was sad. There was no other way to classify the emotions that ran rampant through his mind all day long. His therapist had called him many things—depressed, traumatized—but there was just a simple, lasting sadness about the way he lived now that he didn't have Sherlock. John still couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that nearly three years ago his best friend had jumped from a rooftop. The events leading up to that horrible day, Moriarty's web of crime and lies, everyone turning against the man they had once accepted as brilliant, the shaking of Sherlock's voice as he told John he was a fraud, haunted the army doctor. He still had nightmares but he was used to them. They were nothing new to a man who had seen the horrors of war; but these hurt him more. They reminded him of a time where he was complete. A time he still hadn't come to terms with losing.

At first, it was as if Sherlock was merely on vacation. People hovered over John, giving him extraordinary amounts of attention and never letting his mind wander enough to become conscious of the emptiness of the flat, or of himself. He answered people's questions, he thanked everyone for their condolences, he played the "keep it together" game so well it was almost as if he had fooled everyone into thinking he did have it together. Harry had called more times than he had expected—he expected her to continue ignoring him as she usually does. Lestrade, Donovan, and even Anderson checked up on him a few times. Lestrade always had a regretful tone about his short calls and John knew the man still felt guilt over the incident. John never knew quite what to say without sounding bitter and angry. Mrs. Hudson was there to bring him tea and help him clean up a bit. He spoke little to her; she never pressured him and was surprised by his decision to stay in the flat.

Months after the funeral passed. The delusion of Sherlock being on holiday couldn't stand anymore. Bills piled up and John knew he had to get a handle on things. He dreamt of Sherlock finding him again, of the two being reunited and solving crimes. He remembered all the times Sherlock had said something insensitive and he had had to correct the situation. He missed it. He missed the way Sherlock looked when John told him he had made a mistake. There was nothing that could ever compare to the look on someone's face when Sherlock deduced something that would otherwise be a secret within 3 seconds of meeting them. It never stopped being amazing; no matter how many people told him negative things about Sherlock, John never thought him anything other than magnificent. He had grown to love him, to love Sherlock Holmes.

And now he would never see him again. He would never be able to have any more adventures with the detective.

John had lost the best thing in his life and he didn't know how to keep it together.


	2. Chapter 2

The realization that he had to move on was not something easy for John to deal with. He still had yet to properly process the loss and death of his best friend. How could John be expected to do something so common like work after having spent years solving the most complex crimes the Yard could throw at them? Well, at Sherlock—who had then chosen the doctor to assist him. John liked to think he held his own quite well alongside the detective. At least he used to; now John hardly thought about those days at all without feeling that same sadness he tried to avoid.

Still the bills kept piling up and people began to wonder if John would ever be okay. The hovering became nagging, the concern turned into something John couldn't stand. John felt like a child who had parents that wouldn't leave him alone. The overprotective tendencies of everyone he once considered a friend caused him to isolate himself from them. He felt like he couldn't be the person they wanted him to be. He didn't know who he was anymore.

Every time his mobile rang, a part of him wanted it to be a text reading, "Meet me at _. SH" but it never was. It would never be Sherlock Holmes calling John Watson again. It was these little hopes John kept alive in himself that caused him the most pain.

The months went on by and John found work in a local clinic. The hours were brutal, but that was his own choice. It wasn't the need for money, though he did have a bit to pay off, that drove him to accept every shift he could possibly manage. John Watson was looking for a distraction; anything to keep the images of Sherlock's bloody, disfigured, dead body laying immobile on the ground. At every moment possible his mind would travel to this dark place. He would scream at himself, "NO!" and try his hardest to think of something else. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time it didn't. He didn't want to allow himself any more sadness than was normal. Although when had he ever been normal in regards to Sherlock?

As time when on, John remained sad. Sherlock remained dead.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter took a while to write, sorry. It was hard. I'm hoping it segues propery into the more exciting story. I wrote this on napkins while working the drive thru at work... Reviews are appreciated! I am working hard on this, so I'd like to know if it's good, thanks!

Oh, and disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the pain I cause you because these characters aren't mine.

_He had been running. Something knocked him over.  
"Must get up, get to Sherlock." His mind screamed at him._

_Dizziness and nausea overwhemed him. He tried to stand. Pain shot through his entire body. Had it been one of Moriarty's men who hurt him? Why? He hadn't been able to stop Sherlock from jumping, what good would preventing John from reaching his Sherlock do? That wasn't right. Sherlock wasn't his. His last words-_

_"No! "He hadn't meant that to be the last thing he said in person. "I must save him, must protect him."_

_But it was too late. He had failed Sherlock. _

_John got up and ran-stumbled-in the direction where Sherlock had jumped. He found his way but the crowd wouldn't let him pass. _

_"That's my friend!" He screamed. He wished he could just shove everyone out of his way. He wished so many things all at once. _

_The crowd began to move and John powered through to the front where only the authoritites remained. _

_He saw Sherlock finally. He saw the once gorgeous, statuesque, beautiful man bleeding and broken. He was wrecked. It was more than John could handle; he felt weak, about to faint. _

_And then it was over._

He always woke up before the dull dreams came. He never dreamt of the funeral. He suffered in life as he suffered in his dreams. Sherlock had done so much for him and he couldn't even talk him off a ledge.

These thoughts creeped up on John at night when he was powerless to stop them. Normally he would have woken up upset but not this time. He was unable to make himself anything more dramatic than sad. The sadness has infected every aspect of his life; but what kind of life was he living without Sherlock?

That man had saved John's life. Sherlock's impossible lifestyle had given John something so important-hope. John had gotten back the hope of having a fulfilling civilian life. The life wasn't normal by any means, no, but it was exactly what he needed. Sherlock was what he needed.

_I was so alone and I owe you so much._

John knew Sherlock would hate the weakness of those words but they were so true.

John got out of bed hours later but only because the phone rang. He didn't answer the phone-John wanted to talk to no one but Sherlock-but he needed to start his daily routine if only because Sarah at work would be worried if he missed a day. He showered, shaved, eat just enough to keep from passing out the rest of the day, and quickly left the flat. He sighed when he reached the outside of 221B.

"Another day, Sherlock. You would be so bored by this life. I know I am." He didn't know exactly what he meant by those words and he knew Sherlock couldn't hear them.

A taxi appeared without his hailing one. He got in. He didn't have to tell them where to go, Mycroft had arranged for special transportation against John's will. He figured it was a way of apologizing for his involvement with Moriarty's ploy against Sherlock.

That was another nightmare for another day.

Meanwhile back at 221B, John had forgotten his mobile. He received a message from a number he did not recognized.

**"I'm back. SH"**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I would really appreciate if people could review this or something because I'm getting to a good part of the plot & it would just be helpful to know if I'm doing an okay job at this! It's my first multichapter fic; it's my baby! It's really heating up so... read & review!**

John arrived at the Clinic and avoided looking at St. Bart's. A part of him had chosen that specific job without thinking about how much it would hurt. The rest of him wanted it to hurt. He didn't want to move on and forget Sherlock. He didn't think it was possible.

"John, are you listening?" The sound of Sarah, his boss, talking to him brought him out of his thoughts. He nodded vigorously and hoped he'd be able to catch up with what she said. "Okay.. Well, you have a new patient today waiting in the room for you. Nothing life threatening from the sound of it, probably a hypochondriac. And you have a woman named Milly, no that's not right.. Well she's waiting for you in the lobby. You can see her before the new patient." Sarah walked away quickly to answer the ringing phone. John enjoyed that for 9 hours a day all he could think about was helping people; he would never allow himself to spend that time thinking of the one person he could never help again..

"Milly?" John called into the patient waiting room not looking up from his clipboard. He flipped through a few pages absentmindedly and it took him a while to realize there was a mousy looking woman he vaguely recognized standing in front of him.

"Molly."

She smiled. John had never expected to see Molly Hooper again. She hadn't even spoken to him at the funeral. John just assumed she was dealing with the loss in her own way. They had never been particularly close so this was normal to him.

"John. Oh it's good to see you!" she hugged him. John had no time to react before she started talking quickly. "I know you don't have much time so I'll just spit it out. You look worn John. Have you been sleeping and eating? How is everything? John you should have called-no that's not why I'm here. Just um. John." She twiddled her thumbs nervously and looked behind her repeatedly. She was checking to see if she was being watched; John knew that type of anxiety. He had lived it while with Sherlock.

"Don't lose hope John. He.. did.. what he had to.. " they fell silent. John couldn't meet her eyes. Why was she telling him this so far after what happened? Who did Molly think she was kidding? It made no sense at all. How had she found him? No one from his old group of acquaintances knew anything about his life now.

She gave him a weak smile and proceeded to walk away. This was by far the weirdest thing to ever happen to him. He didn't stop her. He didn't want to think about her words. Deep down John knew that Sherlock had been selfish. It was infuriating. He was so torn in his emotions that he just wanted to scream.

Instead he walked to exam room one where he would have to go through the process of getting their history.

Wanting to get it over with, he opened the door.

"Hello I'm Dr. Watson-"

"I know who you are."

John stopped silent. He started at the man in front of him. Molly had disappeared from his mind but this man had not.

He stood face to face with Jim Moriarty.


End file.
